Hide and Seek
by Random Ruth
Summary: Tag story for 9.10 "Road Trip" and 9.11 "First Born". Dean gets hurt while hunting on his own. The fact that it's his birthday may just save his life.
1. Hide

**Hide**

* * *

Dean crept forwards, the inevitable snap of a twig under his boot threatening to give away his position. The forest floor was littered with them so it was impossible to dodge every one. His gun was held in two hands, pointed at the ground just in front of him for now, but it was cocked and ready.

A claw mark on a tree to his right caught his attention just for a moment. It wasn't deep into the bark, but it was all the confirmation he needed to know he was on the right trail.

He had been slowly making his way back to Kansas after the demon incident in Minnesota, like he was on a bungee cord that dragged him back to his family, when he'd caught wind of this hunt. He'd spend a day or two in a town and move on to the next. Most days he passed his time drinking at the bar, trying to forget the look in his brother's eyes when he'd sent him away, or flirting with women. But his heart wasn't in it and he hadn't been very successful.

This morning had been no different. He'd woken up with a thumping headache in a dingy motel room. At least the water pressure was decent enough, and the shower had cleared his head a little. Then he searched out breakfast in the nearest diner, and flirted with the waitress on automatic. She must have thought he looked like crap because she didn't rise to it. He ate his sausage, egg and bacon in silence. He didn't have Sammy's nattering to tune out, but he would have liked the option.

He went to the till to pay when he saw a newspaper on the counter. The headline caught his eye, something about two men going missing in the woods. "A large coffee to go as well, please," he said. The waitress at the till gave a nod and turned to the coffee machine to fill the order. She handed him the paper cup a minute later. "May I?" Dean asked, pointing at the paper.

"Sure you can, it's yesterday's," she replied, taking the bills he offered.

"You know these guys?" he questioned, taking a chance on it and turning the front page with its two photos of the victims to face her. In small towns like this, everyone tended to know everyone else.

She handed him his change, some of which he put into the charity box. That seemed to loosen her tongue. "I know one of 'em. Danny Roberts, he lived about a mile out. I'd see him every Sunday at church until a few weeks ago."

"What happened?"

"His girl died, she was only five. He sort of lost his way after that," she said. Someone cleared their throat behind Dean, and he stepped to one side to let the customer pay.

"Thanks," Dean said, and the waitress gave him a little smile. He turned and walked out. The Impala was parked just across the street. He sat on the hood to read the article about the two men and sip at his coffee. It revealed that they had gone to cut down a rotten tree that was in danger of falling over and had never been seen again. Their chainsaws and ropes had been found abandoned.

"It's the hidebehind!"

Dean jumped slightly at the strange voice. He turned to see an old woman with a cane, wrapped up warm in a fur-lined coat. "Sorry, what?"

"Those two boys," she said in a tone that suggested Dean was an idiot for not working it out sooner. She lifted her cane and jabbed the rubber-tipped end at the photos on the front page. "I told the man from the paper, but did he listen? No, no."

"How'd you know about that?" Dean asked. "The hidebehind?" He'd heard of them before, was pretty sure they'd gotten a passing mention in Dad's journal at some point, but he'd never gone up against one.

The woman shook her head. "Not the first time it's been here. Back in '75, a team of loggers went into those woods and never came out. No one was able to catch the thing. Only a matter of time before it came back." Her piece said, the woman wandered off towards the pet store. _Probably to get some food for her hundred cats_, Dean thought with a snort. Sam would have told him off for that one, but Sam wasn't here.

Lore on the hidebehind was pretty simple. Nocturnal, big, and hard to spot. It was known for taking lumberjacks, and that fit the MO of whatever was at work here. It also meant the two missing men were almost certainly dead, and the best Dean could do now was stop it happening to anyone else. The only mention of it in Dad's journal was in a sentence about creatures that had a aversion to alcohol. Dean went to the liquor store to find some cheap alcohol to throw at the teetotalling bastard. He wasn't going to waste any of the good stuff he had in the blue cooler in the trunk.

He briefly considered calling Sam and telling him what he was up to. But he didn't even pull his cell phone out of his pocket. _Best not to bother him_, was what he told himself. The old woman was probably right about the hidebehind anyway.

The flask of cheap alcohol was in his jacket pocket now as he followed the hidebehind's trail, weighing one side down. The pocket on the other side was occupied with another handgun, this one loaded with iron rounds just in case the gun he was pointing out in front of him with its silver bullets wouldn't work. But he was quite confident with his silver.

Dean had been looking for the hidebehind for little over half an hour. It felt like much longer without his brother watching his back and having a low conversation with him. Instead the forest was silent, unnaturally so, the tall pine trees not even swaying in a breeze.

It was another five minutes later when the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood on end. He had been hoping to find the hidebehind's lair and kill the thing while it slept, but that clearly wasn't going to be the case. Cursing the Winchester luck, Dean stopped walking. He strained his ears to listen for any movement at all, and at the same time his eyes scanned the area directly in front of him. The gun was still pointed at the ground, but his arms were tense and ready to bring the gun up at the slightest movement.

To his left a twig snapped. He whirled at the sound, gun pointed squarely at the dark brown shape that was partly obscured by a tree. He only caught a glimpse of the creature, however, for as soon as his eyes landed on it, it darted away. It moved faster than Dean could follow with his gun. Instinct had made him look directly at the hidebehind, but what little lore he did know was that nobody could look directly at it. He would have to rely on the corner of his eye, and a lifetime of hunting, to kill it.

It hadn't gone far. Dean could still _feel_ it watching him.

He waited, didn't dare to even breathe. There! In the corner of his eye, to his right this time, he saw the dark brown shape. Without turning his head, he fired. He risked a look when there hadn't been a cry of pain. There was nothing there, the shape was gone again.

Dean took a few steps towards where it had been. There was a chance he'd hit the thing. Hidebehinds were known for their silence, so maybe they didn't even have a voice to cry with.

Clearly the hidebehind wasn't dead, as something collided with his side. Taken by surprise, Dean turned and fired a shot blindly in the hidebehind's direction. He caught a glimpse of it as it ducked behind a tree. Chances were slim, but maybe he'd clipped it. Only when Dean stopped to try to listen for it again did he register his heartbeat thumping in his ears. And only a moment after that did he feel the sharp pain in his right side. He looked down. His jacket was torn, the shirt underneath stained red.

He knew by the amount of blood that had already gathered in his clothing that he probably didn't have much time left. So he slowed his breathing down as much as he could and focused on the tree right in front of him. He held the gun with two hands that were only beginning to tremble, but it was through sheer force of will alone that his aim remained steady.

The dark brown shape appeared ahead, but with his focus on the tree he wasn't looking directly at the hidebehind, and so it didn't run this time. He took a deep breath and fired the gun. There was no sound for a second, then a thump. He let one hand clutch at his side as he walked towards the hidebehind. It was just a lump of dark brown fur now, but he could see the rise and fall of a chest that was still breathing. One shot to the heart (and another to the head for good measure) later, he staggered away, leaving it for some tourists to find and marvel at.

It was as cloudy now as it had been when Dean had set out this morning so he couldn't find his bearings using the sun. He had, under usual circumstances, an excellent sense of direction. But now, after the hidebehind had had him spinning in circles, he was feeling slightly lost and a bit dizzy. He still had his gun out, so he used the hand that had been pressed into his side to stop and lean against a tree. It was bloody and left a red handprint on the bark. He tried to think. He needed to get back to the Impala, his baby with the really warm heater, because it was so cold.

He picked a direction based on broken twigs. His side was warm and slick. He tripped on a tree root, but managed to catch himself by grabbing a low branch. He didn't move with the economy he'd had before, each lumbering step noisy.

He tripped again, over a twig of all things, but this time there were no branches to hold on to, and he fell like a – well, like a tree. He giggled at that, but it was laced with the pain of landing on one's face. The forest floor wasn't all that hard, and it was quite comfortable...

No. He had to leave. He got to his hands and knees, but standing upright wasn't going to happen. His arms were already wobbling as he crawled along like a baby. He breathing was getting faster, his head lighter. He made it further this way than he thought he was going to. Then his arms gave under him without warning, sending him cashing to the ground. Dean didn't have far to fall, but it still left him winded. He was so dizzy he had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop the word from spinning.

He concentrated on breathing, spat out the dirt that had gotten into his mouth, and rolled onto his good side. He could feel his iron-filled gun digging into his hip, but it was nothing compared to the gash under his right hand. It was still bleeding, perhaps a little more slowly, but he wasn't really in a good position to judge. He didn't dare open his eyes to check for fear of throwing up.

He contorted until his left hand slipped into his jacket's pocket, coming out with the flask of cheap alcohol. It was the sort of stuff that kids would drink on street corners, cheap and nasty. Right this very moment, Dean didn't care. He took a few gulps, and then poured some roughly where the cut from the hidebehind's claws were. Even with his eyes closed, the alcohol hit its mark. With no one there to put the act on for, he allowed his shout of pain past his lips.

If there were any more hidebehinds in the area at least the alcohol would keep them away, or so he hoped. He didn't think he'd be able to shoot very straight right now. His phone was in his hip pocket. He should call for help. He had to peel his hand off his side to reach for his phone, his palm stuck to the fabric of his shirt.

He finally opened his eyes to stare at the screen as he contemplated who to call. Castiel had called him two days ago, and the solitary confinement Dean had placed himself in meant that Cas' number was the first name on the list of people who'd called him recently. He just had to hope that the angel was somewhere close. His fingers trembled slightly as he fumbled with the buttons. The screen appeared slightly blurry but he was almost certain he was calling Cas.

This was confirmed as the phone rang out. Dean heard a click as it switched to voicemail. "_You have reached the voicemail of..._" an electronic woman's voice said. "_Say your name_." Sam. The voice sent a pang of something painful right to Dean's heart. "_I don't understand_." That was Cas. "_Just say your name_," Sam's voice said again, sounding almost as crackly as Cas' did sometimes thanks to the cell's microphone. "_C-Casti_—" There was a beep. Dean realised he was supposed to say something, but he just ended the call. Cas might not even know how to listen to voicemails anyway.

Dean wasn't going to call Sam. The kid hated him for essentially saving his life, and Dean understood. He wouldn't bother Sammy with his problems, not now. He'd just have a nap here where he lay and hope that he'd be able to get up again and find his way to a bed. He'd been an idiot, going out on this hunt alone, but what was done was done.

He was a coward. He'd faced down ghouls, demons, and even the Devil without flinching. But the betrayal and hurt in Sam's eyes wasn't something he was ready to face yet. If he ever would.

Cas would call him back. He would.

* * *

**To be continued...**

* * *

**Author's Note: **I've done my best with this to sound as American as I can, but if I've made a mistake I'm sorry. Researching what sort of monster Dean would be up against and how to kill it made me feel a bit like an actual hunter! I'll post part two of this tomorrow. Thanks for reading so far! :)


	2. Seek

**A/N:** Thanks so much for the reviews, follows and favourites so far! I didn't want to keep you all waiting too long, so here's part two.

* * *

**Seek**

* * *

He knew what date it was. He never forgot it. January 24th. Dean's birthday.

Sam had spent almost all of Dean's birthdays with Dean, whether they were hunting or just having a day off in some random motel room. Sam had always gotten him something to celebrate, usually a nice pie, and Dean would smile. That didn't happen so often these days.

It was Dean's birthday and here Sam was in an otherwise empty bunker, surrounded by books, while Dean was out in the world doing God knows what. Yes, he was still upset that Dean had allowed an angel to possess him without asking first. But Dean was still his brother, and he still missed him. Sam knew that as soon as he did see his brother, the anger would come back, but he should just call him.

Yet Sam hesitated. He didn't want to start an argument with Dean, least of all today. Like he had for the three years he'd been at Stanford, Sam twiddled the phone in his hands. At Stanford each time he'd only ended up sending a simple, straight-to-the-point text. Dean had never replied to them, and Sam doubted that he'd even received them.

He couldn't do that to Dean now, not after everything they'd been through since.

He hit the button to dial and placed the phone up against his ear, sipping at his lukewarm coffee. To his surprise, Dean answered after just a single ring.

"C-Cas?"

Dean's voice sounded wrong, like he was shivering. Suddenly Sam was incredibly worried, any hang-ups involving angels and demons completely forgotten. "Dean?" he asked when the silence lasted a moment too long.

Dean said something that sounded a bit like 'salami', but Sam knew better. His coffee forgotten, he slammed it down on the table, ignoring the liquid that sloshed onto the old books. He kept the phone to his ear as he ran to the other table with the laptop on it.

"Dean? Talk to me, man." The laptop was taking its time booting up, and Sam resisted the urge to hit it to make it hurry up. All he could hear was ragged breathing. "Dean!"

"'M here, S'm," Dean said eventually.

"Keep talking," Sam ordered as he searched for the GPS on Dean's phone. "What happened?"

"Hid'behin'..." Sam frowned. He'd never seen one of those before. A pinhead on the map marked Dean's location. He was in a forest a four hour drive from here. Sam could get there in three if he was lucky, maybe faster. He clicked on the icon to print out the map.

"Did you gank it?" Sam asked as he dashed to his room for a warm jacket, and on second thoughts picked up another for Dean.

"Yes," was what Dean managed, and even that seemed to leave him breathless.

"Are you bleeding?" Sam tried to keep the panic out of his voice, but he wasn't too sure if he was succeeding. The printer was finally finished, and Sam tore the page out as he ran past. He needed to _borrow_ a car.

Dean's answers were a long time coming. "Stop'd."

"Okay, Dean?" Sam flicked a switch beside the door and the Bunker descended into darkness.

"I... 'm s-so'ry, Sa'my," Dean said.

"I know, Dean, I know," and the emotion of it all almost stopped Sam in his tracks. "We have to save your cell's battery, dude. But I'm coming, all right? I'm coming as fast as I can."

"'Kay." The line went dead and Sam mourned the lost connection with his injured brother.

* * *

Sam made it to the edge of the forest in just under three hours. He would have been faster had it not been daylight and he didn't have cops to avoid. He'd called Dean once on the way and his brother's words were still as disjointed as they had been before. He'd once again answered the phone with a mumbled, "C-Cas?"

"No, it's Sam. I'm coming, Dean, just hold on. Can you do that?" He overtook a slow-moving car (that is, it was sticking to the speed limit) on the freeway. "Dean?"

"Mmm," was all Dean had said before he hung up.

Sam couldn't help feeling a little bad that Dean didn't even expect Sam to come this time, as if Sam's anger with him meant that he'd been disowned. Sam was angry, but he wasn't completely heartless, and he couldn't simply ignore a lifetime of instincts that screamed at him to go and help. Sam was damned if these were going to be the last conversations he ever had with his brother.

He stepped on the gas.

There was a gravel parking lot for the deserted campsite, and it was there that Sam pulled up. The Impala was the only other vehicle here. Sam rubbed prints off the Toyota he'd commandeered in record time.

He still had his own set of keys to the Impala, and he fished them out of his pocket. He put the warm jacket in the backseat for use later, knowing there was an even warmer fleece blanket in the trunk. He pulled out the lunchbox-sized first aid kit as well before slamming the trunk lid down. With a blanket and first aid kit in one hand and a printed map with Dean's location in the other, Sam walked quickly into the forest.

There were twigs everywhere and it was impossible to walk without making quite a lot of noise. If he wasn't in such a rush, he would be able to track Dean down by the trail of broken twigs he had no doubt left behind him. As it was he spared only glances at his map before moving forwards with determination. There were few bushes with the canopy above blocking most of the sunlight. As soon as he spotted the unmistakable shape that was his brother, Sam broke into a run, shoving the map into his pocket without a second thought.

"Dean!"

Sam crashed to his knees with such force that he nearly fell flat on his face. Dean was on his side, curled in on himself in an attempt to keep warm on this cool, dull, January afternoon. Sam saw a few days' worth of stubble on his chin. He had his arm tucked against a side that was alarmingly red, but it looked like most of the blood had dried. Even in his sleep – at least Sam hoped it was just sleep – he was still shivering.

Sam gently shook Dean's shoulder. Dean opened his eyes and blinked up at him sleepily. "Sam?"

"Yeah, Dean," Sam confirmed with a ghost of a smile. "Y'all right?"

Dean tried to get his elbow underneath him and he grunted with the effort. "I'm f-fine," he mumbled. Sam wondered why he even bothered pretending sometimes. His arms were shaking with fatigue and the cold. Sam draped the blanket over him and Dean frowned at it.

"Can you walk, or will I carry you?" Sam asked. If he was going to do first aid, he preferred to do it indoors. The immediate danger of bleeding out had thankfully passed. Now his biggest problem was getting Dean warm again.

In answer Dean stubbornly sat up, but he couldn't hold back his hiss at the pain the movement had on his injury. Sam stayed on his knees and didn't say anything as Dean used his shoulder to lean on in order to stand up fully. The effort left him sweating. Sam waited until Dean removed his white-knuckled grip from his shoulder before he stood as well. Sam squared the blanket so it was draped over both of Dean's shoulders like a cape. "You look a bit like superman, dude. You just need to have your underwear on the outside," Sam said. But his poor attempt at humour fell flat as Dean didn't seem to be listening.

Dean's gun was nearby and Sam put it in one of his pockets. There was also an old flask he was sure he recognised from somewhere, but he didn't ask and that too was put into a pocket. Sam looked over at Dean. He didn't know if it was the cold and blood loss that had made his brother lose his tongue, or if he simply didn't know what to say to Sam when it was to Sam's face. Both options didn't seem all that good.

"Car's this way," Sam said, picking up the first aid kit and locking his right arm with Dean's left one without comment. That way they could both pretend that Dean was making his way to the Impala under his own steam.

Going was slow, Dean frequently stumbling over twigs and tree roots, even after Sam pointed them out to him. They took a few breaks along the way, Dean leaning against trees and panting. By the time Sam leaned Dean against the Impala's passenger side door it was starting to get dark and Dean was shivering violently.

The door's creak was familiar and the sound of home. Dean folded himself in, immediately comfortable on the seat, and Sam carefully closed the door behind him. Dean leaned his forehead against the glass, mouth clamped firmly shut and his eyes closed.

Sam rounded the hood and climbed in on the driver's side, turning the key in the ignition. The gentle rumble of the engine was somehow relaxing. He turned the heater on full. The blast of air started off cold, but as the engine heated up so did the air. Even so, Dean was still shivering in the passenger seat.

Dean licked dry lips. Sam twisted in his seat to look for something that Dean could drink. He found a half empty bottle of soda and passed it to him. Dean fumbled with the lid for a moment; before he drank the whole lot in one go. He tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder.

Sam hesitated. Given their strained relationship these days, Dean probably wouldn't appreciate what he was about to do. Biting his lower lip, Sam sidled closer to Dean on the Impala's bench seat. He considered briefly wrapping his arms around Dean to help warm him up quicker, but his bloodied side was in the way and he didn't want to cause him any more pain. There was just an inch between them, but it felt like miles. Dean didn't seem to notice his brother's closeness, but the shivers were decreasing. Sam waited until Dean had most certainly fallen asleep before driving away.

* * *

Sam stopped at the first motel he came across, one a half-hour's drive from the forest. Dean was still asleep after Sam had been in reception to ask for a room. Sam easily parked the Impala in front of the room they'd gotten. When the engine was switched off, Dean opened his eyes.

"Where're we?" he asked tiredly. It was the first thing he'd said since Sam had found him back in the forest.

"Nearest motel I could find," Sam answered. "You want to go in?" He was willing to take this as slowly as Dean asked him to. Dean had a need to be in control, especially when he was weak and hurting like this. Sam would do anything right now to make Dean feel better.

"Jus' a minute." Dean took a few deep breaths, as if he was preparing for battle. Then he swung his door open and got out, leaning heavily on the roof of the car. Sam hovered around him as he made his slow journey to their room. He near enough collapsed onto the bed nearest the door, breathing heavily.

Sam went outside for a moment to get the first aid kit and Dean's duffel. It was practically dark now and when he went into the room again he flicked on the light. Dean moaned at the sudden brightness in his face but otherwise didn't comment on it.

Sam knelt beside the bed. Dean's jacket had a tear in it from the claws of the hidebehind but the blood stains on it weren't significant; he could probably sew it up and fix it himself. Sam helped him to shrug the jacket off. His shirt underneath was also torn and there was lots of blood on it in stark contrast to its tan colour. Dean probably wouldn't want that salvaged so Sam simply cut it off. His black t-shirt underneath hid the blood a lot better but it was still soaked. It was also stuck to the wound and congealed blood surrounding it. Sam carefully cut this off as well, Dean enduring in his silence.

The wound was pretty deep and long once Sam had a chance to get a good look at it. But he'd been lucky – hidebehinds usually disembowelled their victims. It was only Dean's quick reflexes that meant he was still alive.

_How long would it have taken me to realise if he was..._ Sam grimaced, unwilling to finish the sentence let alone the thought. They already hadn't spoken for a fortnight. Dean could have been killed thirteen days ago and Sam wouldn't have known until today when he'd gone to call and wish his brother a happy birthday. If he hadn't called today, who knows what might have happened to Dean. Suddenly cold himself, Sam was desperate for a conversation to fill the quiet.

"Some way to spend your birthday, huh?" Sam said, prodding at the skin at the lip of the cut. It was a little too old now for stitching. He'd just have to bandage it up tight and keep an eye on it.

For a moment Sam thought Dean wasn't going to answer him. "It's my birthday—" he sucked in a breath at Sam's probing, "is it?" He sounded surprised.

"That's why I called you before." The wound, thank God, wasn't dirty. He went into the bathroom to get some clean water and a towel to wash it with, just in case. "Did you not know?" A reckless hunt on his own told Sam enough about his brother's current state of mind. He probably didn't even care that it was his birthday.

Dean watched him as Sam cleaned the cut and the area around it. He still hadn't looked Sam in the eye, however. "Other things on my mind," he said. With the worry about his brother's immediate safety starting to die down, he could feel the anger starting to return.

"Yeah, like almost getting killed by a hidebehind. Good job with that," Sam snapped. It came out harsher than he'd intended, and Dean looked oddly stung as he stared at the floor. Sam got Dean to sit up as he wrapped a bandage tightly around his middle. Sam reached for Dean's duffel and handed him a button-down shirt. He left Dean to put on the shirt himself, and Sam thought he caught a glimpse of another injury on his arm. "Is your arm all right?"

"Hm? Yeah," Dean said. Sam didn't push, as much as he wanted to. Whatever it was wasn't bleeding and so it wasn't an immediate problem. He'd ask about it again in the morning.

When Dean had his buttons fastened, Sam laid him down, pulling his boots off and covering him in lots of blankets. "I'm going to get us something to eat. You want anything?"

Dean thought for a moment. "Pancakes, lots of syrup. A beer would be nice."

"Okay. Get some rest," Sam said as he pulled his jacket on. He closed the door behind him just as Dean was burrowing under the blankets a little more, seeking warmth since the heater in their room was busted. He could see the lights on in a diner further along the street and he made his way towards it. He sighed, and his breath puffed into the air like steam.

Dean, no matter what he believed, wasn't poison to everyone around him. Sam always did his best to keep his brother afloat, even though it often proved difficult. By the time he'd returned to their room with two bags of food, Sam had decided that he was going to drive them both back to the Bunker as soon as Dean was a bit better. They were better together after all was said and done. Sam could work on forgiving Dean for the whole Gadreel fiasco in his own time.

"...No, I'm fine, Cas. Sam's with me. Yeah. Yeah... Okay. By—" Dean was finishing a phone call when Sam opened the door.

"Everything all right?" Sam asked gently, depositing the food bags on the little table. He rummaged around for Dean's pancakes and beer, handing them to Dean once he'd sat up in bed.

Dean didn't answer until he had his mouth full of syrup and pancake. "Just called Cas earlier. He always hangs up before I say 'bye'." He took a sip of his beer. He left the 'I didn't call you because I didn't think you'd care' unspoken, but Sam heard it anyway.

Sam brought his chicken sandwich over to his own bed and sat on the edge, watching Dean eat. Sam found that he didn't quite know what to say, and Dean was certainly not making any effort at a conversation, busy stuffing pancakes into his mouth, so they chewed in silence.

Once the pancakes and sandwiches were finished, Sam pulled a cherry pie out of the bottom of one of the bags. "Since it's your birthday an' all, thought you'd like some of this," he said. "So... happy birthday."

Dean gingerly patted his stomach, and Sam frowned when Dean's eyes didn't immediately light up at the sight of his favourite food. "I'm kinda full," he said. "Maybe I'll have some tomorrow." With that he slid down the bed and buried himself under the covers again, effectively blocking Sam's look of concern.

Sam bit back a sigh and left the pie, untouched and still in its packet, sitting on the table. It was still relatively early but even though Castiel had finished healing him, he still felt tired a lot of the time. He switched off the light and made his way to the bed. He toed off his boots and lay on his side, facing his brother.

"I do care about you, you jerk," he said into the quiet room. There was no answer, and he wasn't expecting one, but it didn't make the silence hurt any less. He fell asleep to the sound of Dean's even breathing.

* * *

Sam woke up in the morning to see the sunrise spilling in through the windows. He had a moment of panic when he noticed that the other bed was empty. Then he saw the note, folded so it sat upright, on the bedside table next to an empty beer bottle.

_Thanks for coming, Sammy  
__Bitch  
_—_D_

He was out of bed in a moment, blankets sent flying. He ran to the door, but when he opened it the Impala was gone. Sam kicked the doorframe in frustration, only succeeding in hurting his big toe.

The pie Sam had bought was gone too, he noticed with a twitch of a smile, as he pulled on his jacket to go find a way back to the Bunker. Maybe there was hope for Dean Winchester yet. And if there was hope for Dean, then there was hope for Sam too.

* * *

**The End**

* * *

**A/N: **I wanted to keep this as canon as possible, so the boys can meet up properly in the next episode. Maybe by then Dean will be ready to look Sam in the eye... This is my first serious hurt/comfort fic, so thanks ever so much for reading it. :)


End file.
